The Arrangement Book 6

ANGELA

“Dad, can you ease up on the gas?” I asked, coughing out the fumes whipping in from the open window. “You and I both know that your truck can’t go over forty.”

“Nonsense!” Dad said. “Old Chevy here’s a stallion. Listen to that engine roar!”

He pushed down on the gas, and old Chevy sounded more like he had the black lung.

“Can I steer on the way home, Grandpa?” Leah asked from the back seat.

“Sure thing, sweetheart—”

“No!” Ace and I said in unison.

Leah pouted, and I had to smile. It had taken way too long to negotiate getting her to wear something decent for the interview. But two cookies and a cream soda later, she looked absolutely adorable in her white dress.

Little Ace looked quite dapper in his vest and trousers as well.

I glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

We were going to be late.

“We should’ve just taken the Beamer,” I grumbled.

“Hey, you’re the one who asked me to come,” Dad reminded me. “And I wouldn’t be caught dead being chauffeured around in a prissy car like that.”

He had a point. After Xavier had left for Europe, I hadn’t wanted to attend the St. Barnaby’s tour alone. Dad had always been good with the kids, so I’d thought…why not?

Old Chevy’s engine popped and groaned, and a plume of smoke erupted from underneath the hood. We came to a slow, trundling stop.

This is why not.

“Ah crap,” Dad muttered. “Gimme a second, kids; I’ll fix it in a jiffy.”

“Uh-oh,” Leah said, her voice dripping with fake sincerity. “Looks like we can’t go on the school tour!”

Ace laughed, adjusting his large-rimmed glasses. “Can we get some McDonald’s on the way home, Mom?”

I groaned, pulling out my phone to call Marco. He could probably pick us up within a few minutes.

Hopefully St. Barnaby’s still lets us in…

XAVIER

I gazed out the window, my head in the clouds—well, above the clouds…in my private jet.

I should’ve been running over the pitch with Al. Triple-checking my numbers. Preparing for the biggest meeting in X-Label’s short but lucrative history.

But instead my thoughts were with my family back in Connecticut.

Angela and the kids should be at St. Barnaby’s now…

Of course I felt guilty as hell about leaving Angela alone to go on the tour.

I wanted to be there for my kids. I wanted a say in what school they went to.

But the opportunity with the Brussels Grand Prix was too good to give up.

X-Label was in a crucial time. What Al and I were doing now would determine the company’s trajectory for the next fifty years.

I had to prioritize this for now, to secure our future.

But I’d promised Angela my focus on the business was only temporary.

After things calmed down, I’d spend less time at X-Label and leave it to the very capable hands of my partner.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Angela.

If I couldn’t be there for the tour, I could at least FaceTime her.

Angela picked up, and I caught a glimpse of her exiting the Beamer.

“Hey babe,” she said.

“Hey…are you just getting there now?” I asked. I saw my kids peek into the screen, and I smiled when I saw them. “Are you two giving Mom a hard time?” I asked.

“No!” Leah called.

“We’re late because of Grandpa,” Ace agreed.

“Ken’s there?”

“Hey, Skipper.” Ken peeked into the screen, and I got an up close and personal look at the insides of his nose.

“Dad insisted we take his truck.” Angela laughed and shook her head. “Anyway, look, we’re here!” Angela turned the camera toward the gates of St. Barnaby’s.

I squinted at my phone screen, trying to make out as many details as I could.

There was a huge wrought-iron fence covered in ivy vines that looked deliberately placed. The school grounds beyond opened up into cobblestone pathways flanked by rosebushes. Statues and stone water fountains stood between stately old buildings.

The school looked like it had been built by the ancient Romans or something.

“Are those gargoyles I see?” I asked. “You sure you didn’t end up at Yale or something?”

Angela laughed and showed me a golden plaque by the gate.

“St. Barnaby’s,” she read the metallic letters engraved there. “It is a little much,” Angela admitted. “But that’s what the tour is for!”

I smiled. I had no doubt in my mind that Angela would be able to sniff out whether or not the school was right for our children.

I saw Al try to silently get my attention from the other side of the jet. He was tapping his wrist.

I glanced at the time. Only a couple hours until touchdown.

“Sorry, babe, I’ve got to prepare for my meeting now,” I said, reluctant to hang up.

“Okay. Hey kids! Say goodbye to your dad!” Angela turned the camera, and I saw Leah and Ace running forward into the school grounds. They turned around and shouted their goodbyes.

“Well, there they go,” Angela laughed. “Good luck with your meeting.”

“Go kill ’em, Skip,” Ken added, waving goodbye.

I ended the call, feeling more energized after seeing my family. Now I could focus on pitches and numbers.

I grinned, confidence filling me.

X-Label was about to take Europe by storm.

ANGELA

“And here is our amphitheater,” the guide said, waving behind him in a grand gesture.

I stepped forward, my eyes wide.

It was like I’d stepped out of Connecticut and into ancient Greece. The stage and the stadium seating both looked like they had been carved out of real marble.

Leah and Ace wandered the stone aisles, their curiosity getting the best of them.

“It’s beautiful…,” I said. “But why do you have an amphitheater?”

“For school plays, of course,” the guide said, surprised. As if it was common to have a stage that grand for five-year-olds. “How else should an audience enjoy Oedipus Rex? Sophocles’s work was meant for the theatre.”

“Soap-opera-who-now?” Dad muttered, confused.

“Right…,” I said.

Were children seriously performing Greek tragedies nowadays? I’d played ~Townsperson B~ in my school’s rendition of ~Peter Pan~.

“You can stay for a while and take it all in.” The tour guide smiled at me. “The children have an interview with our admissions officer in fifteen minutes. I’ll come back then.”

“You’re going to interview five-year-olds?” Dad asked, incredulous.

“Of course,” the tour guide replied.

“What’s the world come to…” Dad shook his head, looking completely disgusted.

“Don’t mind him,” I said to our guide. “Thank you.”

The guide left us, and I sighed with relief.

“This school is insane,” Dad said, groaning as he sat down on a nearby bench. “You sure you want Leah and Ace going here? This place is going to suck out their soul.”

I watched Leah and Ace play onstage.

The school’s facilities were great. All top notch and state of the art, despite the ancient architecture aesthetic.

But it definitely wasn’t the right fit for my kids.

“Maybe as a backup school,” I said.

My dad laughed, shaking his head. “Since when did tykes need backup schools?” He took in a deep breath and wiped away some of the sweat on his forehead.

“Are you okay?” I asked, suddenly concerned. He looked exhausted.

“Fine,” he said, brushing me off. “I think I might be physically allergic to a place that fertilizes every single rosebush here with a metric ton of bullshit.”

“Dad!” I glanced at Leah and Ace, making sure they were too far away to hear.

He grinned at me. “Go take them to their ridiculous interview and let’s get out of here. This place is evil!”

I rolled my eyes.

Way to be overdramatic.

“Maybe the interviewer will be so wonderful that Leah and Ace fall in love,” I said, a little defensive. “They were practically born with silver spoons in their mouths. It could be more them than ~us.~”

St. Barnaby’s was one of the best elementary schools in the state, if not the country…and I’d spent a lot of time researching the place. It had looked so promising in the brochures.

“Wanna bet?” Ken challenged. “Cuz I’m pretty sure Leah and Ace are going to run that interviewer out of the room.”

My eyes narrowed.

“If I’m right, you have to watch every Giants game with me for the rest of the season,” he said.

I groaned. Sometimes I could swear Dad loved his football team more than he did me and my brothers.

“Fine,” I said. “But if I’m right, then you have to sell your old truck and let me get you a new car.”

Dad’s face paled. “I can still fix it!” he insisted.

“Scared?”

Dad harrumphed, and I laughed.

“You’re on,” he agreed.

***

“I hate this place,” Leah said.

“Boring,” Ace agreed.

I felt my jaw hit the floor.

I saw the smile creep over Dad’s face.

The interviewer blinked a few times, unsure of how to reply.

We were all sitting in an office that overlooked the grounds of St. Barnaby’s. The place was beautiful, but apparently Leah and Ace thought differently.

“I-I’m sure you’ll like it here,” the interviewer said. She adjusted her glasses, clearly not used to such a response from children. “You’ll meet lots of friends!”

“I don’t need any more friends.” My daughter sighed and gazed out the window, looking utterly bored.

“There’s no lab here, Mom,” Ace said, peering at me over his chair.

“Lab?” I could see the interviewer getting more flustered. “We have a lot of other things that—”

“Do you have a racetrack?” Leah asked, suddenly excited.

“Yes!” The interviewer smiled, feeling more at ease. “If you like track and field, then—”

“No, a racetrack,” Leah repeated. “For ~cars~.”

The lady behind the desk could only stare, her mouth hanging open.

“Or at least a climbing wall?” Leah said, trying to compromise.

Well, Leah’s version of compromise, anyway.

“We have a fencing team,” the interviewer tried. “You know, like swordplay?”

Leah frowned.

Not cutting it.

The awkward silence stretched on, and I could see the chances of a successful admission fading away.

Dad suddenly burst out laughing—a deep, rolling sound that echoed through the office. He patted my shoulder, a big grin on his face.

“I think I’ve got an extra beer hat, sweet pea,” he said.

***

“What did we do?” Leah wondered.

We were on our way home from St. Barnaby’s, the setting sun throwing a beautiful golden glow on the world around us.

But my mood was far from golden.

It didn’t help that Dad had already ordered me a Giants jersey.

“We were just being honest, Mom,” Ace said. “You told us to always be honest, right?”

“You’re right, I did.” I sighed.

My kids are a little TOO honest.

“Maybe the two of you will like the next school we tour,” I said hopefully, more to myself than to them.

“Maybe.” Leah shrugged.

“As long as they let me do my experiments,” Ace added.

I pulled up a mental list of all the other schools I had lined up…and I could easily see Leah and Ace hating them just as much as St. Barnaby’s.

I crossed my fingers.

On to the next…